The Summoning Spell: A Spicy Halloween Romance Novella (The Holiday Glitch Series Book 1) by Kate Rozy

Author:Kate Rozy [Rozy, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hot Mess Happily Ever After
Published: 2025-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

6

Trouble in Aisle Four

She hadn’t meant to take him to the store.

It was a survival decision, really. Her coffee stash had given up the ghost sometime around midnight, the toilet paper situation was dire, and she needed something grounding, something painfully normal, before she spiraled again into whatever post-demonic-afterglow existential crisis she was teetering on.

She shoved a hoodie over her tank top, yanked her hair into a bun that might’ve had sentience, and pointed at him with the sternness of someone who once babysat demon-possessed toddlers at a Halloween fair.

She could’ve ordered delivery. She could’ve stayed in the comfort of post-sex couch melt. But some small part of her craved the dull ache of the ordinary—fluorescent lights and cart wheels and people who didn’t rearrange her soul just by breathing.

“No weird shit,” she said firmly, keys already in hand. “No glowing. No teleporting. No letting your horns out. And absolutely no being hot at strangers.”

Ashar blinked at her, mid-sip of his coffee. “Being hot is not an action.”

“You know what I mean.”

He smirked, but followed her out the door, anyway.

The drive was quiet, except for the playlist of angry women with guitars she blasted to feel normal again. Ashar didn’t complain. Just sat there, long legs folded into the passenger seat like he’d ridden shotgun for years, his gaze flicking over the passing trees with curious detachment.

She glanced at him once at a stoplight. He caught her, and he smiled. She turned up the volume.

The grocery store was aggressively normal. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, carts squeaked like anxious mice, and everything smelled like over-chilled produce and quiet despair.

Ashar stuck close, pushing the cart without complaint. He didn’t even blink when she tossed in tampons, boxed wine, and a family-sized pack of lube.

“You never know,” she muttered.

“I don’t judge,” he said, voice low, maddeningly smooth.

They were halfway through the baking aisle when she noticed something strange.

He wasn’t looking at the women.

She hadn’t expected him to flirt, exactly, but a few smirks or raised brows wouldn’t have shocked her. He was a walking thirst trap. The local moms in yoga pants were definitely noticing.

But Ashar? He didn’t give them a second glance.

He was watching the men.

Every guy who looked her way, dads with carts, college bros, even a teenager comparing brownie mix boxes, got the same look: narrow-eyed, tilted-head scrutiny like a predator daring them to take one more step.

She paused. “Are you seriously staring down that old guy for handing me a coupon?”

Ashar’s voice barely rose above a growl. “He was too close.”

Blair blinked, and then flushed. Holy hell. Her brain tried to reboot.

He was guarding her like some unholy combination of possessive boyfriend and apex predator. Like she was his territory, and not in the gross alpha-male way, but in the I will burn down a kingdom for you way.

And she liked it?

No. No, that was the part of her that still mistook control for care. That was codependency. That was the trauma brain talking. She’d been here before. Possession dressed up as protection.

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